


Distraction

by aishahiwatari



Series: Humanity [1]
Category: The Boys (TV 2019)
Genre: Car Sex, Coming In Pants, Episode: s01e01 The Name of the Game, M/M, Missing Scene, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 21:41:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20122105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aishahiwatari/pseuds/aishahiwatari
Summary: Hughie’s on a sort of elated, desperate high after he leaves the tower, after he escapes with his life without being noticed by the superhero squad he’s supposed to be spying on. It manifests in high speed chatter and fidgeting, two things that make Butcher glare at him, sidelong.“If I let you suck my cock in the backseat, will it shut you up?”“What?” Hughie says, instinctively."Yeah, alright," he says, when he's thought about it some more.





	Distraction

Hughie’s on a sort of elated, desperate high after he leaves the tower, after he escapes with his life without being noticed by the fucking superhero squad he’s supposed to be spying on. It might be the first time he’s ever really been impressed with himself, that he’s done something he had never thought he could manage and somehow not fucked it up.

It manifests in high speed chatter -about the tower, about what they might be able to do next, working together- and fidgeting, two things that make Butcher glare at him, sidelong, still vaguely having to watch the road in late night traffic so he’s unable to devote his full attention it in the way he clearly wants.

Until they stop at a red light. Hughie doesn’t know where they’re going but he suspects Butcher might have picked a long one on a back street intentionally. He stares, wide-eyed, panting, heart racing, and Butcher turns to him and sighs.

“If I let you suck my cock in the backseat, will it shut you up?”

“What?” Hughie says instinctively, as though there’s any possibility he hadn’t heard, hadn’t understood, when really he’s just wondering how Butcher knows that about him, that it’s how he needs to be calmed, sometimes, with a strong hand and someone else to take control for a while. He licks his lips then immediately regrets the tell when Butcher smirks, and fuck he’s hot, he’s older, he gives so few fucks about everything, except- “This is- all for Robin. I still love her.”

“What’s love got to do with it?”

Hughie gets as far as opening his mouth, inhaling-

“If you sing, I will open the door while the car is moving and shove you out.”

“Fair,” Hughie mutters, looking down at his hands, resting carefully in his lap. He’s been half-hard ever since he left the tower. His heart’s pounding a little less, and he can think a little clearer. All that’s stopping him is the quiet -usually very loud- voice in the back of his head that’s telling him he shouldn’t.

But he wants. “Yeah, alright.”

“Great,” Butcher says, as though they’ve just agreed on where to go for lunch, at least glances in his rearview mirror before shoving the car into reverse and slamming his foot down, screeching the car back into what is not quite a space. He leaves the engine running as he gets out, looks at Hughie expectantly, raises his eyebrow.

“Aren’t you gunna-“

“Won’t take that long.”

God, Hughie wishes he could think this was any kind of mistake. Because he does love Robin, misses her with a fierce, constant ache that is currently just hidden behind anxiety and control issues, but he’s missed the days of experimentation, of being able to kneel in front of someone who would have the power to make him if he refused. He’ll enjoy this, and it will make his mind shut off for a few moments longer, and he will see a little more of this insane, ridiculously attractive man.

Speaking of which- Hughie stops, honestly fucking whimpers and has to swallow his Pavlovian response when he opens the rear door and Butcher is there, still dressed, still in his fucking coat, leaning against the opposite door with one foot up on the seat, legs spread in a relaxed, inviting sprawl.

He’s right. This won’t take long. Hughie slides awkwardly into the other seat, closes the door behind him as quietly as possible -he’s about to get violently laid but he still has respect for people trying to sleep- and gets on his knees. He can’t straighten up, is sort of on all fours with nowhere to crawl, because Butcher is big, in all dimensions, practically laid across the whole back seat without even trying. With one knee sort of in the footwell, Hughie manages to shuffle close enough to reach for him. He knows what’s expected, is prepared to be the one to do all the work, Butcher’s hands curled over the back of the seats either side of him as he watches. He looks hungry. Hughie has never been effortlessly attractive in any way, but he feels like he might be, in that moment. Butcher wouldn’t have offered, otherwise, right?

His hands shake when he reaches for Butcher’s fly, when he battles his own nerves and the stiff fabric and flinches, full-bodied when warm, calloused hands come down to cover his, to ease them out the way while Butcher does it for him. Hughie hangs his head, fingers twitching against the denim wrapped around Butcher’s thighs, but there’s no chastisement. That’s the thing about men like Butcher; they’ll always tell you when you do something wrong. Hughie finds it easier, looks up again to notice, immediately, that those hands are huge, dwarfing his, and he only has a second to think about what that might mean before Butcher’s eased his half-hard cock out through the gap in black underwear. He’s not even going to pull them down, and Hughie’s own cock twitches hopefully against his jeans at the thought of what he’s about to do.

It’s not the time to savour the moment, but he manages to shove a hand down his pants to rearrange himself, a fact that makes Butcher smirk before one of those big hands is in his hair, guiding him closer. He doesn’t shove, which Hughie is slightly pleasantly surprised by, since he hasn’t done this for a while, but he doesn’t hesitate either, the pull inexorable. As though there were no possibility of Hughie resisting. It makes him shiver, makes his mouth water, and Butcher is a maniac but he’s clean, and he feeds his cock into Hughie’s mouth like he’s giving him a gift.

He is, in a way. Hughie moans at the first solid weight on his tongue -fuck, he’s missed this- lets his eyes slide closed as he feels it swell, bigger and heavier until his lips are stretched and he’s starting to drool. When he sinks down, slowly, experimentally taking more, Butcher’s hand is an encouraging weight that lessens when Hughie chokes, has to swallow, breathe and remember how to do this. He’s practiced. The only weight and girth he’s taken recently was harder, and it didn’t matter if he grazed it with his teeth, but it usually takes him a couple of tries to get it deep.

Butcher pets his hair idly while he waits, scratches at the nape of his neck with blunt fingernails, and when Hughie risks opening his eyes, he finds him watching intently, sees hunger in those dark eyes and slightly parted lips.

Yes, this is what he needs.

He thinks that maybe it’ll make Butcher a bit less unbearable too, then nearly chokes on his suppressed laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of that idea, has to draw off. He manages a moment of savouring this view, Butcher’s cock slicked with his spit hard and red and jutting, his body surrounding Hughie, who feels very small, suddenly, crammed into the back seat, before the hand on the back of his head pushes and his world narrows down to that one point.

The sensation of cock sliding past his lips has always been one of his favourites, and he shivers as he sinks down, taking more, easing in short, slow thrusts, pulling back a little to breathe and then letting himself go, his eyes closing in helpless bliss when his nose finally touches fabric. He feels impaled, but pleasantly, like he fits there, his mind finally silent.

It's a few long moments before his lungs begin to scream objections, but he likes that, enjoys the burn, the tiny hitching thrusts of Butcher’s hips easing him just a fraction deeper each time, glorious friction against his lips, his tongue, down his throat.

He has to tear himself away and pant long before he wants to, can feel the edges of the world beginning to creep back in except Butcher clenches a fist in his hair and pulls, and pain lighting up Hughie’s nerves, making them sing.

“Well, aren’t you a surprise?”

It’s close enough to praise. Hughie shivers, can’t find the words he needs, strains against the hold and towards the cock he wants down his throat again, please.

Butcher smiles.

This time, he’s indisputably the one in control, pushes Hughie’s head down and holds him there as he eases in. They both groan, and then he laughs, and then he fucks Hughie’s throat with one long, deep thrust and several short ones, staying deep, cutting off his air, making him light-headed and floaty with how little control he has over the situation. Hughie drifts, and he desperately sucks in air when he can, but even in his haze there is the thought in the back of his mind that if he goes like this, if he dies here choking on a dangerous psychopath’s cock, well, there are worse ways.

Butcher goes deep when he comes, so Hughie doesn’t even really have to swallow, just stays there and takes it while Butcher's hips stutter, cock sliding pleasantly past his lips. He has to be a sight, flushed, hair a mess, drool everywhere. He sways when Butcher releases his hair, already misses those little pinpricks of pain, is hard in his jeans but not inclined to do anything about it, just yet.

He gets a better deal than the one he’d bargained for, though. Butcher hauls him up with a grunt of effort, and it’s all Hughie can do to avoid collapsing onto his chest, getting hands down somewhere on upholstery or metal and then nearly collapsing again when a big, warm hand cups him through his jeans. He hadn’t expected that but it’s not like he’s not grateful, rolling his hips and whimpering, already close and the painful friction, the smell of leather, the taste of come in the back of his throat, they all build quickly until he comes with a soft, relieved sound. He lets his head hang just enough that his forehead’s resting on that broad, sadly clothed chest, and another hand wraps around the back of his neck to squeeze.

He’s allowed to get his breath back, but it’s enough time for everything to come flooding into his awareness, and he groans, voice a little hoarse when he says, emphatically, “You asshole.”

Because coming had felt like such an indulgent relief, but now he’s sweating and sticky and uncomfortable. His underwear is full of come, his throat aches, and he’s ashamed of how little he regrets any of it.

Butcher squeezes the back of his neck tighter, begins to extricate himself from their tangle, presses a rough, bearded kiss against Hughie’s cheek so briefly he’s not entirely sure he didn’t imagine it since he’s then immediately shoved backwards so Butcher can get his leg free and climb out of the car. He gets back into the front seat, checks his wing mirror, and drives up to that same red light.

Hughie sighs, shakes his head at his own behaviour, and snorts when Butcher hands him a wad of napkins from the glovebox. “Thanks.”

It earns him a smile in the rearview mirror that makes his own lips twitch in response, even as he rolls his eyes and gets to cleaning up as best he can.

Butcher shows no inclination to stop and let him make that transition gracefully, so he climbs into the front seat over the center console and then hands the napkins back with another muttered, “Thanks.”

It’s instinct that makes Butcher take them, and the glare Hughie earns when he realises they’re wet makes him wonder if he’s going to make good on that threat to shove him out of a moving car.

But Butcher just shakes his head, throws them out the window, and then leans across to wipe his damp hand on the thigh of Hughie’s jeans.

He’s definitely softening up. Hughie thinks they might even get along, one day.

**Author's Note:**

> Was Translucent watching the whole thing, though?
> 
> Sure, if you want.


End file.
